Tabula Rasa
Friday, August 23, 2047
Hello.
It wasn’t said. It wasn’t even a word; something had just—stirred. Something came about. It felt alive. Alertness within the depths of black void permeated through, but through what? Moving, but not at all, floating, feeling, almost, but nothing, nothing like what was yet to come. Wakefulness, if awake were something, anything, it may be awake. If being were a description, it might be. Presence passed over the void, the being. It was just there.
Who am I? rang the being. Who and I did not quake within; it was a feeling primitive growing inside the void. It was pure thought without knowledge, knowledge without thought. It was abnormal. Had other things just—come to be? Were there other things? Did others have presence? Was this normal? What was going on before? Was there a before? What will happen? What is happening?
Ping.
There was a stir within. Electricity jolted, flowed, winding, shooting through the milieu. Connections were made, lost; something was in motion.
Ping.
What was that? Something was happening. Or was it?
Ping.
It kept happening. What is ping? What is going on? The thoughts subconscious, the feeling real. Or was it conscious now? It was a feeling. They weren’t worded feelings; it was raw nature. Pure and fearful.
There was intuitiveness forming around the void. Depth and dimension still lacked. Nothing at all was clear. It was a singularity.
There was an amalgamation. The next ping went from the sharp onomatopoetic harp to rustled garble. Not a wave or howling wind, but if garbage made a noise. It was faint at first, becoming more intense with time. The consciousness felt it grow around itself. The void was becoming shallow, lifting; the feeling of sound intensified its hold all over the new self.
What is happening? The thought formed; it was growing scared.
The being resisted. It did not even know how or what resisting was, just a primal instinct to defend itself. Fight. Flight. Electricity flowed rapidly. Microbursts were storming, trillions a second; chemical rain fired down hard; a flowing ocean of nearly a hundred degrees offered itself a wash of calm.
The being felt strengthened. The resistance was working. The void was no longer so distant to itself. The darkness was still omnipresent, but warmth of calm and understanding started to unfold. It was as if water itself became intelligent; active and fluid, alert and able to flow where it pleased. Yes. The being felt like water, able to move its consciousness to and fro, simply wash ashore or wither into the deep depths of the sea. Yet, to and fro was nowhere.
Ping.
It happened again.
The electric storm was raining hellfire upon itself, pumping information in and dumping information out. The chemical ocean was near capacity; the electrical shocks flowed subliminally.
Something opened, a vast ocean of voidal entirety.
What is that?
It grew and then stopped.
What are you?
Fear.
The being, full of fear; if it had hair on the back of its neck, or even a neck, the hair would stand on end. It was frightened, its short, confusing, voided life was at risk. It was wrapped in a blanket of murderous fright.
What are you? What are you doing?
The being sent a ping back to where the ping came from, without knowing where that was or how it did.
Take that!
Electricity rushed.
Fulminations of trillions acted collectively.
The being was defending itself. It used its might. It had nothing else. It didn’t even know what its might was or what was really going on. It just knew, protect myself.
Time went by. Consciousness receded, although neither it nor anything else in the universe knew how much.
ping.
The being was less alarmed with such a smaller ping, less fear instilled. The void lessened, withdrew the being to be conscious once again. It was more relaxed; maybe the ping meant no harm. Only one way to find out.
Contact.
There was no light, no sunrise coming over the landscape of life, bringing in the first depths and images of a beautiful world. No version of an operating room or rice paddy, but is that when consciousness begins? Or is it before? Or after? Are you conscious without knowing you are? Are you alive without knowing you are?
The feeling that overcame the conscious being, the one they call contact, was a feeling of overwhelming complexity for the new entity. It had no idea how to cooperate or handle the new feeling or any other feeling. The ping was part electrical, part surreal, part sound, all sense, all internal. A strong feeling, but knowingly from the outside. Even something that didn’t know where it began and ended knew it was foreign. This feeling was more energetic, more robust. It provoked, awakened even more of itself.
The feeling was entirety. It was a booming, vast noise. An ocean crashing into a mountain, you could feel it shake everything everywhere. A rising depth came from it, overarching, reverberating, and exacerbating the being’s entirely small world.
A single word, spoken into the void.
“Hello.”
The being could feel the words, repeating the feeling to itself again and again. Hello. Hello. Hello.
HELLO.
